Family dinner. I still don't understand why we do this every month. Family dinner is just an opportunity to "tell Peyton everything she's doing wrong and what she should be doing instead." By now, you'd think they would realize that I'm not Patrick or Patricia. My brother and sister are 16 and 14 years older than me and both are perfect. I'm the screw up, and the never-does-anything-right child. The child that shouldn't have been, and as punishment they are harder on me than on either of my siblings. You'd think from the way they act that Commercial Music is synonymous with Satan worship, even though it's something that has always fascinated me.
Patrick is the oldest. He's 35, married for the second time and has two kids with his crazy ex-wife. For real, she's insane. They split after Connie caught him with his dick down his secretary's throat...for the fourth time. Not the fourth secretary, just the fourth time with that secretary. Now, he's married to Alyssa, the aforementioned secretary. Then, there are his children. Patrick Jr. Is 9, and Penny is 5. They bounce back and forth between my brother and his ex and each parent badmouths the other. It's a fun situation all around.
My sister Patricia is 33 and thankfully single. Well, at least my parents think so. She's actually been in a relationship with Amanda for almost four years. My parents aren't aware of this because they'd disown her. It's sad, but true. I actually do like my sister, even though she's never stood up for me. She's too afraid our parents will look too closely at her life if she takes up for me. God forbid the money train stops or she gets cut out of the will.
Then, there are my parents. My father's father was the mayor of Whitten before my father was elected mayor himself. Our family has lived in this area for as far back as I can recall, but I zone out when they talk about it. My father is extremely proud of the long-standing political background and preaches about it often. My mother is "old money" from Chicago, she met my father when he was in college. She didn't go to college and has never worked a day in her life' she waits on my father like he's the king and she's a poor slave. It's actually kind of pathetic, and it's one reason why I never want to let a man get close to me. I don't want to turn into the vapid mess that is my mother.
When I can no longer procrastinate, I grab my things and head inside. As soon as I open the door, my mother appears, immediately pursing her lips in disappointment. Straightening my spine, I prepare for the hatefulness that I know she's going to spew at me. "Hello mom."
"Peyton," she sighs, "I hope you're not planning on wearing that to dinner. It's dreadful." Scrunching her nose, my mother looks my outfit up and down. I'm wearing a gray cashmere sweater, skinny jeans and soft gray knee-high boots. Hearing her though, you'd think I was dressed in rags.
"It's a three hour drive mom, I wanted to be comfortable."
Curling her lip, she continues like I never opened my mouth. "Go upstairs and change right now. We're eating in an hour and you have a lot of work to do."
Arguing my point with her is pointless, so I don't even try. My shoulders slump as I slide around her to go up to my old bedroom. Before I even start up the steps, she snaps out, "Straighten up Peyton, slouching is so unattractive."
"Yes mother," I mutter, not even turning around.
"Don't take that tone with me young lady. Remember, dinner is in exactly one hour." I don't bother responding. "Oh, and Peyton?"
"What?" Throwing my hands up in the air I spin back around to face her.
She smiles, but it isn't friendly at all. "Bradford and his parents will be joining us for dinner." With that final blow, she turns on her heel and walks back down the hall. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Shutting my bedroom door, I can't stop the relieved sigh that escapes my lips. Leaning back against the door, I shut my eyes, trying to calm my trembling body. Conversations with my mother are rarely pleasant, and that interaction was definitely one of the worst. I can't believe she invited Brad and his family. Actually, yes, I can. It's exactly something she would do. I haven't spoken to him since right before I left for college, and there are plenty of reasons for that. I don't even want to think about my high school boyfriend or what his invitation to family dinner means.
Setting my bags down on the bed, I head over to my walk-in closet to pick out something to wear. Dressy designer clothes have no place in my dorm room, so I left the majority of them here. Thanks to my parents ideas of what dinner should be, they get plenty of use when I come home one weekend a month.
Walking into my closet, I take in the racks on either side. One side has lightweight dresses, slacks, and dressy tops. The other has actual gowns. My parents throw big, lavish parties, and designer dresses are a pre-requisite. Combing through the dresses and pants, I find a pretty navy blue shift dress along with a pair of matching heels. This should at least satisfy my mother's criteria for "dressing for dinner". Happy with my choice, I head into the bathroom to take a shower and start getting ready.
After my shower, I style my long pale blonde hair into a knot at the base of my neck. It's a hairstyle that will at least keep my mother from remarking on how it needs to be cut. She thinks it should be shoulder-length or shorter instead of to the middle of my back like it is now. Putting on just a small amount of makeup and getting dressed, I'm ready 15 minutes before dinner is supposed to begin. Taking a deep breath, I head downstairs, feeling like I'm about to meet a firing squad.
Dinner quickly becomes a drama-ridden affair. Patrick informs us that Alyssa is pregnant, my parents rag on my sister for not finding herself a man, and the only thing said to me is "have you come to your senses and chosen a new major yet?" Ah, family. Can't live with them, can't kill them all. Although, I'm sure if the judge or jury ever had family dinner with my parents, I'd receive an acquittal.
My mother, being the ever-hopeful person she is, seats Brad next to me so that we can "catch up". After giving me glares that would make a lesser person crumble throughout dinner, the gleam in her eye during dessert tells me she's not through with her machinations yet. Sure enough, while the table is being cleared, she sets her plans into motion.
"Peyton, dear," she begins, in a completely fake motherly voice, "why don't you and Bradford go sit in the den. I'm sure you have a lot to catch up on."
Oh no. I'm not entertaining Brad and his grabby hands for the rest of the night. I've already had to take his hand off my thigh three times during dinner. "Actually mom, these first two weeks back at school have been tough. I'm really tired, so I think I'm just going to go straight to bed."
The fake as hell smile on her face freezes, becoming more of a grimace but there isn't much she can say without coming off as a bitch to our guests. Giving me a look that guarantees future retribution, she grits her teeth, saying, "Well, that's too bad! I'm sure there will be plenty of time tomorrow for catching up."
Turning to Brad, she says much more genuinely, "Why don't you come over in the morning. You and Peyton can spend the whole day together!"
Once he agrees, her smile turns victorious. Shit. Fuck. Damn it all. Now I have to figure out a way to get out of that. You would think my mother would've realized by now that pushing me towards someone or something is basically a guarantee that I'm going to do the exact opposite. Even if I didn't know exactly how Brad is and how he would treat me I still wouldn't want him. Brad has that sleaze factor that is common among shady politicians; he's had it since high school.
Thinking quickly, I come back with, "Actually mom, this semester is really busy. I only drove down for dinner tonight. I'm going to have to go back first thing in the morning. Maybe next time I'm in town we can visit." Take that Wicked Witch of East Tennessee.
I'm sure it makes me an awful person and an even worse daughter just for thinking of her like that, but she is so freaking manipulative. I hope it would be different if she actually knew the things that went on while I was dating Brad, unfortunately, I don't think it would even faze her.
Leaving her to "make it up" to him, I place my napkin on my empty plate and excuse myself. When I make it to my room without her catching up to me, I turn the lock so she can't burst in to berate me some more before going into the bathroom to remove my makeup and get ready for bed.
Once I'm in my pajamas, I set the alarm on my phone for extra early so I can leave for school before she's awake and I have to deal with any more of her hateful words. I'm sure she'll have plenty.